Ivory Ashes - A Mafia Romance
My new boss is gorgeous, arrogant, and filthy rich.
The only problem?
He doesn't know he's also the father of my baby.
Six years ago, I was supposed to get married.
But the night before the wedding, my groom-to-be showed me sides of himself I'd never seen before.
I might've died in that hotel room...
If Mikhail Novikov hadn't burst in to save me.
Handsome, strong, capable knight in shining armor-sign me up, right?
WRONG.
Because Mikhail wasn't just the hero I never knew I needed...
He was also way more dangerous than I ever could've known.
But for one night, I let myself do something I never should've done.
It was worth it-several times over, if you catch my drift.
In the morning, though, I did the reasonable
I RAN.
For six years, I keep running.
Until I walk into work one day, and find my new boss waiting in my office.
Guess who?
And guess what he does when finds out about our baby?
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Mikhail didn't smile. Didn't smirk. He didn't even bother giving me a disapproving once-over. No, he simply took a sip of his drink... and walked away.
Like I was nothing. No one.
Like I didn't matter.
Now, I'm sprawled half-naked on the floor in front of him-while he is trying to save me from his abusive older brother, no less-and I still get absolutely nothing from him.
Mikhail sighs and meets his brother's eyes. "I'd kill you for almost anyone, Trofim. Fucking give me a reason."
I start to lift myself up. Maybe I can slink away while the brothers duke it out. But Trofim's foot lands in the middle of my back. He presses me down to the floor, stealing the air from my lungs.
Mikhail takes a half-step towards us, but he stops. I can't see his face from my new vantage point literally under Trofim's heel, but his voice shakes with rage when he says, "Final warning."
Trofim laughs. "I gave you a reason the moment I was born, little brother. Do you think marrying Giordano's daughter will secure you the Bratva? I'll inherit the title of pakhan whether I marry this bitch or not."
"This isn't about her," Mikhail snarls. "This is about you. You're unfit."
"Unfit to what?" Trofim slurs.
Mikhail moves closer. "Unfit to lead and to marry Viviana."
I should be fighting for breath, but I'm too busy being shocked Mikhail even knows my name.
Why does he care who I marry? What does it matter to him if his brother is an abusive asshole?
"Oh, wait. Wait a minute. Is this-Are you trying to make up for past mistakes?" Trofim chuckles. "Holy fuck. I mean, come on, Mikhail, it's funny, isn't it? You standing here talking about me being unfit. If anyone is unfit to marry, it's you. Look at what happened to-"
Air whooshes out of Trofim's lungs at the same time it returns to mine.
Because, between one second and the next, Mikhail launches himself at Trofim and knocks him off of me.
I scramble across the floor as the glass coffee table shatters under their weight. Shards of glass skitter across the hardwood floor.
The door is right in front of me. It's unlocked. I could run.
But run where?
I'm in a nightgown that barely covers my ass and my father is right down the hall. He'll never let me escape.
I know all too well what happens when I poke that bear. Daddy doesn't like when his pawns talk back.
So I just stand here, stranded between one nightmare and the next. I press myself against the wall and watch Mikhail pummel his older brother into the floor.
Trofim doesn't stand a chance. He can hold his own against a woman half his size, sure, but he can't keep up with the speed of Mikhail's punches.
Blood and spit and broken teeth fly as Trofim's neck snaps one way and then the other.
Mikhail is going to win. He's going to overpower Trofim, and then...
Before I can sort through the stew of terrible options in front of me, Mikhail wraps his hand around his brother's throat and drives a knee into his chest. He pins him to the floor.
"Stop fighting if you want to live," he growls.
It isn't much of a choice. Trofim is panting, exhausted from just that little bit of fighting. He couldn't throw Mikhail off if he wanted to. And he really, really wants to.
"What?" he pants. "You want her? Fucking take her, then."
I shrink back against the wall, but Mikhail doesn't look at me. Instead, he snatches Trofim's hand off the floor. The two thrash around for just a moment before Mikhail gets whatever he's after and lets his brother's wrist flop back down.
"Leave." He stands back, power rippling off of him like a forcefield. Goosebumps bloom across my chest. "You so much as set foot on the same continent as me ever again, you're dead."
Trofim works his jaw back and forth. "Exile."
"It's a better option than death. Take it."
I think he might lunge at Mikhail again. Argue.
Instead, Trofim stands up, wipes blood from his split bottom lip, and stomps out of the room without even looking at me.
I don't move. Don't breathe. Everything is happening so fast and I don't have time to think about where it leaves me...
Until Mikhail turns to me.
Whatever he's feeling, it's still elusive. But slowly, he lifts his hand and slides something onto his finger.
The gaudy ring that cracked across my face less than ten minutes ago settles on his right hand like it's always been there. Like it belongs.
I look from the family signet ring to its new owner.
The Novikov Bratva just got a new heir. And his sights are set on me.
2
VIVIANA
"What are you still doing here?" Mikhail asks.
The words of my savior, everyone.
"I'm naked," I blurt.
The words of the socially illiterate, everyone.
I'm usually much more eloquent, but word vomit must be a nasty side effect of cranial and/or emotional whiplash.
Not to mention, Mikhail is handsome. Stunningly, stomach-twistingly handsome.
It's the reason I walked over to him at my engagement party in the first place. Sure, I was there to marry his brother, but being betrothed didn't make me blind. Mikhail was leaning against the wall with a diamond-cut jaw and a curl of golden brown hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. I wanted to see what he was about. Could the inside possibly match the outside?
I thought the answer was a definite no, but now... He saved me. Does that change things?
Now, I'm seeing him up close and in better lighting. Does that change things?
The same strand of hair sweeps slightly lower over one of his cold blue eyes now. Eyes that are wholly fixed on me.
I shake my head to clear away the lusty cobwebs. "Well, not naked," I correct quickly. "I'm almost naked. Barely clothed. I'm in pajamas."
Mikhail looks pointedly at the skewed scrap of lace covering my lady bits and little else. "You wore that for him?" Mikhail's upper lip curls in disgust. It's the first easily-readable emotion I've seen on him.
"I didn't wear anything for him. It's for me." I cross my arms over my chest, which only serves to put my cleavage even more on display. I quickly uncross them. "I think it's pretty."
Trofim may have been a monster, but he had great taste in lingerie. Well, really, whatever poor maid he got to order me the present had great taste, is more like it.
Silk triangles cover my breasts, but the rest of the nightie is intricate lace. It flutters over my midsection and brushes against the very tops of my thighs. If I turned around, Mikhail would get an eyeful of the matching silk thong.
I press my bare ass more firmly against the wallpaper so that doesn't happen.
"You should leave while you still can."
I frown. "I didn't realize my salvation came with an expiration date."
Mikhail roots through the mini-bar fridge, grumbling when there's nothing but champagne inside. He pops the bottle and crunches over the remains of a shattered vase and haphazardly spread rose petals to find a glass.
The fact that we're in what would have been mine and Trofim's honeymoon suite tomorrow night is becoming hard to ignore.
For me, at least. Mikhail still won't look at me.
"Why are you here?" I demand.
His throat bobs as he swallows down champagne before pouring himself another glass. "Were you not listening? I already explained myself. My brother was unfit."
Unfit to lead and to marry Viviana. I'm about to hand over the last of my dignity to ask which one he's referring to now.
Instead, I nod. "He was. But he was unfit yesterday. Last week. Six months ago. Why did you decide to finally do something about it tonight?"
I didn't ask the question with an answer in mind, but I suddenly find myself hoping Mikhail will turn and look at me. I let myself imagine his icy blue eyes burning with passion... for me.
You, Viviana. Since the moment we met, I've wanted you. I couldn't stand it for another second.
Or, y'know... something along those lines.
Mikhail does turn to me, but there's nothing but an icy chill when he looks at me. His eyes scrape over my skin. I swear he can read every thought bouncing around my funhouse of a brain.
It's confirmed when he tilts his head to the side. "Do you think I'm here for you?"
"Wha-No!" I cross my arms again. Mikhail's eyes drop to my chest.
I don't uncross my arms this time.
He takes a step closer. "This has nothing to do with you, Viviana."
Heat coils low in my belly at the way he says my name. "Why should I believe that? I'm the woman promised to the heir of the Novikov Bratva." I gesture to the ring on his finger. "That's you now, isn't it? Some people would argue we still have a binding agreement."
You may also like
8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
7.5
I was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Ruiz family, but the moment their true heir appeared, I was thrown away like trash.
Not long after being kicked out, my adoptive father and uncle hired a hitman to stage a fatal car crash on Mulholland Drive.
Pinned under an overturned Porsche with a shattered leg, I watched the hitman point a suppressed pistol between my eyes.
"The Ruiz family sends their regards."
Before this, my reputation had already been completely destroyed by a director, a pop idol, and a reality TV star, leaving me blacklisted and universally hated.
My adoptive family didn't just want me ruined; they wanted me permanently silenced to tie up loose ends.
The hitman pulled the trigger, and the original Alicia died in despair, tasting only rain and blood.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand.
Why did the family she loved treat her like a disposable object? Why did those three men maliciously frame her and turn the world against her?
Opening my eyes again, the fear was gone, replaced by an ancient, cosmic indifference.
I, the Arbiter, had taken over this deceased vessel.
Moving faster than the human eye, I crushed the hitman's steel gun with my bare hand and turned his soul into dust.
Looking at the memories of those who wronged this girl, I signed a contract for the very reality show they were starring in.
Since I borrowed this body, taking out the trash is a required courtesy.
7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.
8.2
At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south.
But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband.
In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire.
His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach.
"We're terminating this complication," she said coldly.
As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.
8.0
"Don't you dare touch me. You bloody monster," Eric whispered glaring at me, which only turned me on the more.
A beautiful smile crossed my lips; luckily for us, his fake mother was so focused on Katherine, she did not know I was fucking her son before her eyes.
"So I am now a monster, huh? That was not what you said yesterday. Or have you forgotten about our hot night?" I asked as I traced my way to his lap again, approaching his groin area.
He swallowed hard, his eyes roaming around. "Damien. I am Katherine's fiancé. your niece" He reminded me as my hands reached his groan, caressing it through the layers of his trousers.
"Yesterday you were Mike's boyfriend, and what did I tell you? I don't give a fuck!," I whispered back. "Now be quiet and try to control yourself" .
Eric's life is thrown upside down when his brother is killed on his coronation day, and he now has to become the king. and he can't because he is gay and he has a boyfriend who he loves dearly, or so he thought until he met Damien Monetro, his fiancée's uncle and his former one-night stand